


Red

by she_who_drank_vodka_with_cats



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Geralion, Geraskier, Hand Jobs, Jaskier is in his twenties in this, M/M, Red Riding Hood Elements, Wolf Pack, mentions of animal blood, witchers as wolves, witchers' disgusting eating habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24701812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/she_who_drank_vodka_with_cats/pseuds/she_who_drank_vodka_with_cats
Summary: they tell him not to go into the woods alone during this time of the yeara pack of wolves migrates past the castle every  late fall and every early springJaskier hears their warnings and dons his cape
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 164





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> au in which Vesemir saw that the days of the witchers are over, people turn on them even more since Geralt's experience in Blaviken and Kaer Morhen is more of a ruin than a stronghold, so after the next winter they all leave the hold, but instead of parting, they stay together

The fire in the oven warms the castle's kitchen and it's the smell of freshly baked bread that had lured Jaskier there. 

The cook slaps his fingers as he tries to steal one of the loaves that are cooling on the table near the closed windows. 

"They are still hot," she warns him before turning to the oven and checking on the next batch. 

Jaskier pulls a grimace at her back, takes hold of one bread and immediately drops it with a pained yelp. The servant scowls at him and throws a kitchen towel his way, telling him to wreak havoc somewhere else but to leave others to their work. 

The loaf savely wrapped inside the towel, the future viscount of the estate packs it into his bag with the other food he had already snitched from the pantry. Lettenhove is a rich estate and its stocks are filled with more than enough supplies to survive two winters, no one will notice if he takes some. And it can't be stealing when he practically owns the food, right? He's supposed to inherit Lettenhove and all of its possessions, why shouldn't he be allowed to avail himself of the pantry? 

He slips on his warmest pair of boots, the fur padded ones, and dons his thick cape. The garment was especially expensive, but worth every ducate. It is two-layered, the outside is unremarkable black wool, whereas the inside is lined with the finest satin in an aggressively red colour that is sure to catch one's eye whenever Jaskier unbutton the front and let's the lapels fall apart. 

He pulls the heavy bag over his shoulder and makes for the door, when his mother steps into his way. 

"You wanted to bring Annaita's baby a gift, instead your baggage looks like you plan to get her whole family through the winter."

"Isn't it the best gift if the baby and his parents are alive and healthy?" he asks innocently. 

The lady of Lettenhove steps closer and opens his bag to take a considering look inside. 

"Mh, let's see. A baby blanket, chamomile oil, bread, cheese, sausages, potatoes, apples. Pastries?" 

"It's for Anna's older children," Jaskier lies quickly, but she has already found something else to raise her eyebrow at. 

"Goat's milk and vodka?" 

"I heard their goat has been fetched by wolves." 

"Julian," his mother sighs exasperated. 

"Oh, you mean the vodka? Well, I can't come by, bearing gifts for everyone except for the baby's father." 

"I fear your big heart will be the family's financial ruin," she mutters as she closes the bag and then pulls him into a quick hug. 

“Which won’t be a problem anymore as soon as father has found the richest girl in the land who is willing to be my wife.”

"Take care and be back before the sun sets," she cautions him once again. "I don't want you to walk through the woods after dark. The gamekeeper said he found an abandoned camp last week. Could be bandits or elves, but the servants heard there was an archgriffin near Brugge and the mayor got desperate enough to hire witchers-" 

"Don't worry mother," Jaskier stops her fretting. "I'll be back before night falls or in case something is keeping me, I will sleep at Anna's and come home in the morning."

"Just be careful," she repeats and pats his cheek. She used to have to lean down to do it, now she has to reach up. Time has been flying and her little boy has come back from Oxenfurt as a grown man, ready to help his father with his work, to marry and start his own branch of the family tree. 

"As I am always," he winks and slips past her and through the mansion's big oak doors. 

He takes the long path around the forest in case his mother is watching him from one of the higher windows. Ever since his older brother lost his live during a drunken night on horseback, she had been afraid to lose her younger child too, be it to death or to another woman or to the big wide world and its promise of adventure. Jaskier can't blame her for worrying so much, but sometimes he feels stifled under her care and the last thing he wants tonight is for her to send some guards after him for protection. 

The walk takes nearly two hours because the frozen puddles along the trail slow him down and the freshly fallen snow glistens pretty enough in the sunlight that he has to stop and enjoy the view more than once. The frozen droplets at the tip of the branches make the trees look as if they have been decorated with the finest crystals. A red patch of winterberries grows partly along the way, a splash of colour in the white and grey landscape thaz lures unwitting victims with its poisonous fruit. Jaskier's boots keep his toes dry and warm, so that he can travel and take in all of nature's beauty unimpeded by the cold. 

Annaita and her family greet him happily, she is still lying in bed, too weak to get up, but her cheeks are rosy and the baby drinks healthily from her breast. They both seem fit enough to be around for the next spring. They thank him profoundly for the blanket, the potatoes and the goat's milk and invite him to share dinner with them. 

Jaskier declines politely, but he has other business to attend to. He stays a little longer to chat, but as the sky turns golden with the setting sun, he congratulates them once more and wishes them farewell. 

This time he chooses the path through the forest. When he is sure to be far enough between the trees that no one can see him anymore, he stops, puts the bag onto the ground and takes off his cape. He turns the garment inside out, the bright red satin as noticeable as the deadly winterberry has been, before putting it back on. 

He picks up the bag again, its weight beginning to be a strain on his shoulders, and continues walking. His certain steps don't lead him further along the given path, but into the deeper parts of the woods.

Without the sun's presence, the winter gathers its strength and starts to lash out like an old feral spirit. The cold air is stinging Jaskier's exposed face and his fingers begin to feel numb within his gloves. He pulls his hood over his head to save some of his warmth. The sky above him is a dark abyss, the silver sliver of the moon gives barely light and all he can make out around him are black tree trunks and the white, snow covered ground. 

His bright cape stands out like a fresh wound on the world's pale complexion and he knows that the alarming colour and his loud, laboured breathing make him an easy target for any predators. It is only a matter of time until the wild creatures notice him and his pulse rises with his anticipation. 

The forest is eerily silent, as if all animals within it are too afraid to make any noise, as if they sense that there is something dangerous, something deadly around. 

In the silence, his soft, startled yelp is as loud as a thunderclap, but the forest swallows the sound quickly. 

Holding a hand to his racing heart, Jaskier glares at the man who has spooked him. His irritation only seems to amuse the stranger, for his grin widens, showing off sharp teeth. 

"All alone in the big dark woods?" he drawls and circles Jaskier until he is standing in his path. He is close enough now that the young noble can make out his dark hair and the long scar on his face. His eyes shine golden in the soft moonlight. "Did you get lost, little red?" 

The snapping of a twig to his side gives away the presence of another person and sure enough, when he turns his head, he finds another man standing there. This one's scars look even more vicious, the harsh lines pulling at his lips and turning his slack mouth into a wicked sneer. 

"Didn't they tell you that it's dangerous to go into the woods by yourself? There are wolves around," the newcomer admonishes him as he creeps closer and Jaskier nearly laughs at the useless warning, because he knows who people are talking about when they whisper about the wolves roaming the forest. He knows that he walked into two members of the pack. Licking his dry lips, he straightens his back and holds the rogue's gaze. 

"I've got a delivery," Jaskier answers without a hint of fear in his voice. 

"And it's wrapped up so nicely," purrs a third voice from behind him. 

Like the other two, this man bears also a predator's golden eyes and scars that tell of a live of battles, but unlike his companions, he has white hair and pale skin as fair as the snow surrounding them. 

The three men walk around Jaskier, their movements precise and with purpose, their big bodies shifting with a grace that comes from rigorously trained muscles. Jaskier knows that he only noticed them, because they wanted him to. There is no way to say for how long they have already been following him around without his knowledge. 

The pack circles him, three pairs of golden eyes fixed on their prey, until the white wolf stops right in front of the young noble dressed in his blood red cape. Jaskier studies the man's stony face, contemplates his scars, the old and the new ones, and takes in the dark, tattered clothes he wears. He can't stop his hands from nervously fingering the strap of his bag, but he plainly refuses to feel intimidated. 

They stare each other down, until the side of the man's mouth twitches ever so slightly and his eyes wrinkle with restrained joy. 

Jaskier lets his bag carelessly slide of his shoulder and drop to the ground, before jumping into the older man's arms. The embrace is eagerly returned and he finds it hard to breath with how tight the man is squeezing his arms around him, but at the same time, he doesn't want it to stop, wants to get closer, to crawl under the wolf's skin and make himself at home. 

"You're late," he huffs into the man's neck and he can hear him taking a deep breath, basking in Jaskier's scent before mumbling his apology. 

"We got caught up, there was a contract." 

"Leave some for the rest of us, Geralt," Eskel chuckles beside them. 

Geralt reluctantly lets go of Jaskier, who turns toward the other man and greets him less passionately, but just as warmly. 

Lambert is the last to walk up to him. The youngest witcher pulls on his hood to get the human's attention and ruffles his hair as if Jaskier was still smaller than him, as if he didn't have that grow spurt years ago. They share a short, but tight hug, pointing manic grins at each other. 

"I kept thinking of you all summer," Jaskier tells him as they let go of each other. "There was a dead dove on the ledge near my window. It was too far to reach for and after some time it started to smell just like you."

Lambert shoves against his shoulder with restraint strength as his brothers laugh. 

"I missed you, too, you menace." 

Eskel gives an exaggerated groan as he picks up Jaskier's bag. 

"You know we can't eat stones, right?" 

"You mean the bedtime story about the hunter who cuts open a wolf's belly and fills it with boulders so that he won't feel hungry ever again is a lie?" Jaskier gasps as he takes Geralt's hand and lets the three men lead him deeper into the woods. "You think parents would lie to their children?" 

"I think you're full of shit," Lambert declares. "There is no such story." 

And Jaskier wants to kick himself for forgetting once again that Lambert didn't have that kind of childhood, that he doesn't know all the famous fairytales, because there was no one who cared enough to tell them to him. 

"How's Vesemir?" he inquieres instead. "Did he finally grow old and feeble enough for me to beat him in a fist fight?" 

"Why do you want to beat up an elderly so badly?" Eskel frowns at him.

"It's not about beating an old man, it's about beating a witcher. It would be a formidable anecdote to tell about the one time I wrestled with a witcher and came out on top." 

"Didn't you already top Geralt?" Lambert smirks and promptly stumbles as said brother kicks him into the back of his knee. 

"Don't be crass!" 

"Then don't be so loud!" 

Jaskier can finally see the camp fire close to a cave entrance and has no shame in pretending that the heat in his cheeks origins from the hot flames, even though they aren't that close to it yet. 

"Jealous?" he counters with a swollen breast, repressing his embarrassment with a show of plastering himself against Geralt's side. He is usually more quick-witted than this, but his mind is too occupied to come up with a smart answer. He is still instinctively watching out for Geralt's response whenever someone comments on their relationship, holds his breath in anticipation of the white wolf's knee-jerk reaction of pushing him away for all the wrong reasons. It tooks years for Geralt to finally own up to his feelings, to not feel undeserving of Jaskier's love and to grant the noble enough faith to let him decide for himself if he really wants to be with a witcher. 

"He's not jealous at all," Eskel interjects before Lambert can roast him for his lame reply. "He's met a cat and as far as we can tell Aiden is very flexible." 

"A cat?" Jaskier stage whispers at Geralt, while Lambert shouts at Eskel to shut up. 

"One more wrong word about my new friend and I'll eat yours!" 

"Leave Lil' Bleaker out of it!" 

Jaskier watches with indecent fascination as the two grown witcher fight over Annaita's lost goat, that stands calmly close to the fire and chews on the last patch of green grass that pokes out of the snow.

A deeply resigned sigh can be heard from within the dark cave and Jaskier lets go of Geralt's hand to greet the only man he ever knew of being capable to make such annoyed, yet fond sound. Vesemir rounds up the hugging with some firm claps onto his back. 

"Good to see you, boy," he says in a rough voice and adds with a nod at Geralt "I couldn't stand the sulking any longer. You hungry? Dinner will be ready soon." 

Jaskier nods eagerly as the smell of the deer leg roasting over the open fire hits his nose and rouses his empty stomach. 

"You needn't have cooked for me," he insist and looks to Eskel for his bag. "I have brought some apples- Hey, those are for after dinner!" 

Caught with a pastry halfway to his mouth, Eskel grins sheepishly and puts it back, while beside him, Lambert shamelessly swallow his own stolen goods and licks the sugar from his fingertips. 

Jaskier grabs the bag and pulls it out of their reach. He hands it over to Vesemir who has the most self-restraint of the group and the witcher looks carefully through the contents without devouring everything at once. 

"Thank you," he says sincerely with a hand on Jaskier's shoulder. The times when he would tell the noble that he didn't have to do this have been long ago, they both know how much the pack depends on his early winter deliveries and that the young man would never decline help if it isn't in his power to give it. 

"You got the list of what else you need?" 

Vesemir pauses his browsing to hand him a shred of paper. The list is fairly short, it always is with the wolves tending to most of their possessions themselves, their clothes repaired a hundreds times over and mostly consisting of patches, but they aren't shoemakers and it seems that Eskel has walked a hole through his sole. Other than the new pair of shoes, the list consists of yarn and a needle, a razor and soap. Jaskier makes a mental note to add some more pastries to it. 

A crooked grin pops up on the old man's face as he finds the bottle of vodka at the bottom of the bag, only to turn into a confused frown when he pulls out the smaller flask with the yellow liquid. With an apologetic shrug, Jaskier takes the oil out of his hand and tucks it into his pocket, prompting Vesemir to uncork the bottle that is left in his other hand and take a big gulp from the alcohol. 

They sit down around the fire at the cave's entrance, the bottle of vodka is passed 

along between the five men, and eat dinner while recounting the past months since their last meeting. Jaskier is tearing apart the meat that has been cooked for him and eating in modest bites as he is used from court, uncaring of the wolves next to him, as they devour their prey raw and smack their blood covered lips. 

While he tries on Jaskier's winter boots for size, Eskel explains in detail why the new scar on his face is actually Geralt’s fault and though Jaskier wouldn’t have noticed it if the witcher hadn’t pointed it out, the human plays sufficiently shocked and scowls at his favourite wolf. 

“What did you do all summer?” Geralt asks unbothered by Eskel’s accusations and his lover's fake glare. 

The noble accepts the bottle from Lambert and absentmindedly cleans the deer blood from the opening while he answers. 

“Nothing too adventurous, I’m mostly sitting over the estate’s books with my father. He’s trying to press me into the role that Willem had been prepared for his whole life, but alas, the heir is gone, long suffer the new heir. I don't even have time to pick up my lute anymore.” 

He takes a sip and scrunches his face at the strong taste. 

“It’s the sensitive thing to do,” Vesemir remarks, always the voice of reason. 

"It's also the most boring," Jaskier groans and throws himself theatrically over Geralt's lap, who takes the bottle from his hand and drinks, his hand leaving a red smear on the glass.

"You know I had different plans in mind after finishing my studies. By Gods, your visits were the only reason I came home between the semesters, and when I am finally finished and free to travel, my brother steers his horse into a river and drowns. I come back home for the funeral and suddenly they want me to settle down and become the next viscount. Let’s just hope I can skirt my father’s lessons for the next- how long are going to stay?”

The four wolves are shuffling on their spots and avoid his questioning glance. At last, Vesemir remembers his role as the eldest and most responsible and turns to Jaskier with an answer. 

“Winter came earlier than anticipated and the contract for the griffin delayed our travel in addition. We can’t stay longer than necessary. Two more nights, maybe three, then we will have to keep going.” 

“Two more nights?” Jaskier asks incredulous. They used to stay with him for at least a week or two. This visits are the highlights of his year, a glimpse at the world past the estate borders and the university walls. The pack that over the years has become as much of a family to him as his biological one, even more so, for he had chosen to care for these people, to love them even. The anticipation of seeing them again helped him to endure everyday life and now he was only getting two or three nights with them? 

He reclaims the vodka and swallows it down without tasting the burn. 

“You’re going south? Where to exactly?” 

“Toussaint, probably. Haven’t been there in a while, there could be work. Anyway, the winter there is mild, it’s a good place to wait for spring.” 

“How mild? Say, if I were to leave for Toussaint tomorrow, what would I have to pack?" A hopeful plan is forming in his head, but Geralt is already shaking his head. 

"You're not coming with us." 

Jaskier sits up and faces him, ready to argue about it. 

"Why not? This has always been the plan." 

"Your family needs you, you're to be the next viscount," is the halfway thoughtful answer, but it's not reason enough for Jaskier. 

"You said I should finish my studies first and I did. Then you said I should help my family mourn, I did!" He knows he is yelling, but sometimes it is the only way to get through Geralt's thick skull. "Now you want me to stay and get married to strengthen the family's political position and to get children whom I can marry off to other powerful families and settle differences between commoners and collect taxes until I die? Is that what you want me to do?"

Geralt holds his angry gaze with a stormy silence. The other wolves stop eating and follow the well-trodden fight between them, some feeling more awkward, others more entertained. 

"I want what's best for you," he finally presses through his teeth and Jaskier knows that Geralt would rather not fight in front of the others, but the decision to let a human travel amongst them should be made by the whole pack and not by the white wolf alone. 

"And you get to decide what that is?" Jaskier pushes and he can see the conflict behind eyes of molten gold before they light up with fury. He braces for the onslaught, but instead of spewing scathing justifications - how Jaskier is too young to really know what he wants, how he can't defend himself and would only be a burden or how they had only ever used him to get free provisions and never actually liked him - Geralt silently drops the food in his hands, gets up and leaves. 

His jaw dropped in disbelieve, Jaskier looks after him, before addressing Vesemir. 

"I think you fucked up. Weren't the mutations supposed to strip him off his flight instincts?" he tells the oldest witcher loudly, before turning and yelling after Geralt. "Stop running away, you coward!" 

Lambert, who followed the proceedings with glee, whispers  _ uh oh _ loud enough for everyone to hear. Throwing the vodka bottle at him, Jaskier shoves his feet into Eskel's ragged shoes and jumps up to follow the unreasonable idiot. 

The pace Geralt sets is quick and Jaskier is already panting from chasing him and shouting at him at the same time. 

"Why is it that whenever there is a problem, you just run away from me? Would you just stop and talk to me, you big oaf? I didn't want to tell you in case it would upset you, but it seems like you might even be happy to hear that my father's making plans to get me married. Of course I don't want to get married to some noble daughter, because I would rather spend my life with the man I love, but it seems like I have been a fucking idiot to think that he might feel the same."

Geralt's hunched shoulders are tense and Jaskier knows that the wolf can hear his mad rambling, but chooses to ignore him.

"You're behaving like a child, Geralt. You are sixty years older than me and I am the grown up in this relationship! If this even is a relationship, just tell me if you don't want me and I'll leave you alone, but don't give me some fucked up explanation about how you want what's best for me!" 

He nearly collides with Geralt's chest, as the other man suddenly stops and turns, fuming with repressed rage. 

"Stop tormenting me for five minutes."

"Oh, I'm sorry for being such a burden on your life." 

"I just want you safe!" he shouts at the human, who finally shuts his mouth, willing to hear what he has to say. "And alive. Not freezing to death on your way to fucking Toussaint."

He takes hold of the front of Jaskier's cape, the red fabric bundles up between his fists, and stares at the garment as if it holds all the answers. 

"I don't care what you do, who you fuck, if you marry, as long as I know that you're safe. You- You deserve so much and I am not the one to give it to you. That woman your father will choose for you, she can give you a family, stability, a comfortable life. I have nothing to offer."

Jaskier inclines his head to catch the witcher's eyes, before he softly speaks, as if not to spook the wounded wolf any more. 

"So you are willing to put my safety over my happiness?" 

A quiet whine leaves his throat as Geralt lets go of Jaskier's cape and sits heavily down on the cold ground, his arms hanging limply over his knees, his hands curling into fists for a short moment, before opening in lack of energy. 

"You can't decide for me how I will live my life," Jaskier continues in hope to reach Geralt behind his walls of stubborn self-consciousness. "You can only determine what part  _ you _ want to play in it." 

With a tired sigh, he watches Geralt bury his face in the crook of his arm. 

"I will leave my family and the life they have planned for me. I never wanted it and I won't let them push it upon me. The only thing left to discuss is if I will go with you or leave on my own."

"You're an idiot," Geralt mumbles into his arm. 

"What?" Jaskier barks, taken aback by Geralt suddenly going back to insults. 

The white haired man raises his head and looks straight at him. 

"I said you're an idiot. It's fucking cold and you don't have a witcher's metabolism. You can't just come with us in the middle of winter or you will freeze to death. Wait at least until we come back in spring and join us then. We will make sure to not go south that late in the year again when you are with us, but I don't feel good about taking the risk of having you out in this weather."

"A bit of snow doesn't bother me-" 

"It's more than a bit of snow." 

"And I could already be married by spring." 

Geralt regards him with an irritated gaze. 

"I'm sure you will find a way to discourage any suitors."

Of course Jaskier knows how to turn away any wedding candidates his father will be sending his way, without being the one to actually decline the marriage, that doesn't mean that he is looking forward to it. The man claiming to be in love with him shouldn't be so casual about it. 

Acting on a whim, he leans down, takes a handful of the frozen white and throws it at Geralt. The witcher doesn't move from his spot, he simply watches with a frown as the lump bursts against his shoulder. 

"Jaskier," he growls in warning. 

"Look who's bothered by a bit of snow now!" Jaskier mocks him and throws another ball at him. 

This time, Geralt lifts his arm to deflect the snow that would have hit his head otherwise. Jaskier already has the next shot ready, but can only yelp and throw it over his shoulder in Geralt's general direction, when the witcher suddenly leaps to his feet and pounces after the human. 

Jaskier is dodging and turning corners, but the mutations give Geralt an unfair advantage in case of speed. He knows that he can't run from the white wolf for long, he doesn't have the stamina. He rushes beneath low hanging branches and squeezes through the narrow gap between large, moss-covered rock formations. His pursuer knocks the branches out of his way and climbs without an effort over the huge rocks. 

Jaskier uses the short moment Geralt is concentrated on his climbing to throw himself onto the ground and roll beneath some shrub. He lies face down on the earth, dirt and dried up leaves scratching his cheeks, and pleads for his racing heart to slow down. 

A pair of feet lands with a threatening thud on the ground close to Jaskier's hiding spot and he watches them slowly walking past, the tension a coil around his throat that clogs his breathing. 

"Come out, Jaskier, I know you're still here." 

The feet turn around and deliberately walk back into his direction. 

"I can smell your sweat," Geralt states with a calm voice, his tone almost smug. "I can hear your heartbeat." The feet stop right in front of Jaskier's face. "And I can see that hideous cape between the bushes." 

"It's not hidious!" Jaskier defends his attire and then shrieks as a hand shoots beneath the shrubs and pulls him out by his lapels. 

A rush of air escapes his lungs as he ends with his back pushed against a tree and is instantly restrained by Geralt's mass pressing against him. 

"Who's the child now?" the witcher sneers at him. His mouth is still smeared with deer blood and his golden eyes burn with purpose. He looks like the feral animal, that people claim all mutants are. 

"I don't know," the human answers and squirms in the stronger man's firm hold. "Who had more fun at playing catch?" 

A low growl rumbles through Geralt's chest and vibrates against Jaskier's front. 

"It's no fun when there is not much of a challenge. You know you don't have to wear the bright clothes anymore. We recognise your smell and your sounds by now, we won't hide from you or accidentally attack you." 

"I know," Jaskier admits with a purr and a pout. "But I also know that you like to catch the sight of red between the trees and know that I am on my way to you." 

He moves his arms around Geralt's shoulders and pulls the man closer, leaning his forehead against his and sharing his breath him. 

"You had promised to stop pushing me away for my sake," he admonishes him gently and presses a kiss against the witcher's lips. 

Geralt's shoulders drop and his hold on his lover slackens, keeping him in a loose embrace that the human could easily break out of. 

"I'm sorry," he sighs and Jaskier can easily make out the truth in his words. 

"Show me," he still urges the wolf who opens his eyes and looks at him in question. 

"Show me how sorry you are," Jaskier repeats and then with more emphasis "Show me that you want me." 

Unable to deny the request, Geralt leans forward and claims Jaskier's mouth. The man opens up for him without hesitation and the kiss turns deep and urgent. Jaskier can taste the metallic tang of blood on his lover's lips and he sucks and nibbles until it is gone and the taste of Geralt's hot bruised mouth is all that is left. 

Geralt's hands stroke up his chest and rest around his neck, his thumbs caressing his jaw as he pulls back and looks into the human's light blue eyes, as clear and bright as the sky on a winter's morning. 

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he whispers as remorseful as one would make his confessions at the temple. "And I want to keep you forever, but I know it's impossible." 

"What if - and this is absolutely hypothetical - you underestimate me? I know I look awfully fragile next to a witcher, so what if I don't travel like one? What if I don't stay outside during a snowstorm, but frequent inns? We could meet up later. People travel on their own every day."

"People die on their own every day."

Jaskier decides to overhear Geralt's dramatics. 

"I could infiltrate towns as your human spy, check for possible contracts and buy supplies whenever there is no game in the woods."

"And how would you pay for food and shelter? There isn't enough gold in monster slaying to fund your plans." 

Jaskier spreads his arms to the sides and shows his teeth in a broad smile. 

"I am a master of the seven liberal arts. I will do what I always wanted to do and make my earnings with music." 

The white wolf gives him a lopsided smile and a raised eyebrow in return. 

"You want to be a bard?" 

"Why not? I know that you love my singing. In fact, our first kiss was after I sang to you." 

"I just wanted to shut you up." 

The wrinkles around his eyes deepen with amusement and Jaskier burrows his fingers in the long strands of hair at the back of his head. 

"Then why are we still talking? Shut me up," he orders and pulls Geralt into another fierce kiss. 

The witcher comes willingly and presses his whole body in a long hot line against the human, trapping him against the tree. Feeling pleasantly restrained, Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt's middle and entangles him, too, in a loving confinement. They move lazily against each other until Jaskier's skin is tingling all over and he feels comfortably warm. He gasps when Geralt rolls his hips in a fluid rhythm against him and the warm spark within him begins to burn fever hot. 

Tired of the layers between them, he breaks their kiss and uses his teeth to pull off his gloves. The pair is carelessly dropped to the ground and Geralt is quick to follow his example, while Jaskier squirms his fingers beneath Geralt's armor to reach for the long row of buttons on the front of his trousers. He graces his knuckles along the first stripe of freed skin he finds and enjoys the feeling of the witcher's abdominal muscles involuntarily twitching at his touch. Still feeling playful, he tucks his fingers into the hem and hauls Geralt closer, meeting his hips halfway with his own. 

The white wolf buries his face with a groan into Jaskier's neck, keeping his genuine reactions muted and out of sight, something that had always irked the human. 

"Don't hide from meeahh- or do that, yeah, that's good," Jaskier backpadels and throws his head back to give Geralt more space as he sucks and nibbles on the sensitive skin. 

There is one reaction Geralt doesn't even try to hide and Jaskier presses his palm along the hardness, coaxing more moans from his lover. 

"Will you fuck me against this tree?" he breathes into Geralt's ear and earns another eager roll of hips for the intriguing image. 

"If the weather was more amiable, I would," he confirms and rolls his eyes at Jaskier's disappointed pout. "Don't whine, we will have time to test out for our favourite weather condition while making love."

"Such as?" Jaskier enquiers with big innocent eyes, his blown pupils betraying his virtuous look. "And don't think I didn't hear you calling it  _ making love _ , you big softy." 

Inspired by the gentle words, he presses a chaste kiss against Geralt's brow, who in turn indulges him and carves out a fantasy. 

"Come spring, I will lay you out on a bed of flowers and touch you with all the care that you deserve until you can't distinguish between the soft drops of spring's light rain and the patter of my kisses upon your skin." 

Humming his approval, Jaskier continues to undue the witcher's trousers and dips his hand inside to get a firm hold on his dick. Geralt pauses his illustrations to give an encouraging grunt as Jaskier rubs his thumb over the tip, smearing the precome that has gathered there. A new heat deepens his voice as he continues to talk. 

"During summer I will want to ride you. I want to feel you inside of me just as hot and heavy as the sun burning down on my naked back."

Jaskier whimpers and let's go of Geralt, who stifles his protest in favour for Jaskier unbuttoning his cape. He glides his hands beneath the garment and around Jaskier's waist, feeling for the bow over his lower back that keeps the hem of Jaskier's trousers tightly drawn. His fingers loosen the lace as carefully as one would unwrap a precious gift. 

Ever the impatient, Jaskier pushes his trousers down and pulls himself out, swiftly doing the same for Geralt, who inhales sharply when the cold air hits the most sensitive parts of him. The human shares his discomfort and tries to be quick as he searches through his cape's pockets for the little flask of oil. Geralt holds out his hand and an ample amount of the yellow liquid is poured into his palm. The smell of chamomile floods his senses and he coats himself with the slick oil, before stroking Jaskier, spreading the oil attentively. 

"And during fall?" Jaskier wonders between gasps. "The last days before winter, before we can do much more than this, sharing body heat and pleasure in small stolen moments, what will you do with me then?"

He takes hold of his cape's lapels, pulling the cloth over Geralt's shoulders and keeping it in place with one hand. He lets his other hand glide into the sheltered space between them, wrapping it around Geralt's grip on the both of them and helping him to find the perfect rhythm. 

Geralt licks a stripe up his neck and then nibbles at Jaskier's earlobe before sharing his filthy plans. 

"I will bend you over and fuck you," he states with a hard thrust that holds a promise. "I will fuck you like it's my last chance. I will hold you down and rut against you like the wild animal they say I am, because you drive me mad. I want to go feral on your body, paint it with my marks." 

He graces his teeth over the muscle in Jaskier's shoulder close to his neck. His lips move against the skin as he asks for Jaskier's permission. 

"Will you let me?"

And all Jaskier is capable of is a whine and a nod and then a set of sharp teeth sinks into his skin and he cries out with the heavy mixture of lust and pain. Geralt's warm tongue soothes over the spot moments later and Jaskier is too turned on to think anymore. He grabs Geralt's ass, pulling and pushing and being for more until their movements turn erratic and clumsy. 

Geralt is the first to spill between them. He slows his hips and breathes heavily against Jaskier's neck, before he composes himself and concentrates on stroking Jaskier to completion, who falls apart beautifully. 

While the human regains his breath, Geralt wipes up most of their spent with his hand and kisses Jaskier's slack mouth once more before stepping out of his embrace. He takes a fistful of snow and rubs the cum from his hands, then tucks himself back into his breeches and buttons up his trousers. He winces at his own ice cold touch on his dick and rumbles at Jaskier's feeble giggling. 

"You need help with that?" he points at the other man's undressed form. 

Jaskier side eyes Geralt's hands, still wet from the melting snow on his skin, and shakes his head. 

"I can't wait until spring," he says dreamily as he redresses himself, then takes his wolf's hands between his own and rubs some warmth into them. 

Geralt watches him with a contemplative fondness. 

"And I can't persuade you into staying a little longer?" 

"What are you afraid of?" Jaskier teases him and lets Geralt lead them back to camp, their hands still clasped together. 

"That I will meet all the other lovers you have all over the continent?" 

The witcher dives into his own thoughts for a moment, his eyes cast down as he probes his own feelings. Jaskier gives him the time he needs, simply shares a reassuring press of his fingers, but lets the man find the right words on his own. When he finally speaks, his voice is faint and coy. 

"I like how we are, but when you join us, there is no coming back to this. Either it will work out and we can stay together or I will lose you forever, be it to death or to you coming to your senses and going back to your castle, leaving me behind. It's a big bargain."

Jaskier considers the earnest words and tries to grant the same honesty in return. 

"Yeah, it's all or nothing and, I won't lie, it scares me, too, but I want it all with you. And all of you. So, I'm willing the risk."

Geralt watches him from the corner of his eye. 

"You will stay the night?"

"Yeah, I will get the stuff on the list tomorrow, pack some of my own things - my feet are freezing, Eskel's shoes really are shit - and then we can leave. That is, when you want me to come."

"Hmm."

Jaskier gives him a nudge and an annoyed look, but the human's heart pounds in his chest as he waits for a more precise answer. 

"It's gonna be freezing tonight." 

The young noble rolls his eyes. 

"So you've said." 

"Good thing you have that cape. We should share a bed roll and keep each other warm beneath it." 

Jaskier's cheeks are reddened by the cold and their coupling in equal parts and the smile on his face is radiant. The white wolf finds himself thinking that maybe it is bright enough to get them all through winter. 


End file.
